


Ye children who be soldiers

by hongmunmu



Series: A serpent in the rice [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-25 15:33:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20914409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hongmunmu/pseuds/hongmunmu
Summary: Sarutobi passes on the title of teacher to his students, who discover that the Will of Fire does as much harm as it does good.





	Ye children who be soldiers

**Author's Note:**

> i'll be real with you a lot of this might be nonsense because i haven't written in a while and i'm having trouble straightening things out in my head lately, but this chapter was nearly finished so i figured i'd push and get it done since a few people were asking about updates. i hope it reads okay!

Tsunade was predicted to be a beauty since birth, and did not disappoint as she grew, promptly being labelled the most beautiful woman in Fire country by her sixteenth birthday; lips like a rosebud, large and doelike brown eyes, silky hair that framed her face perfectly. Jiraiya, while no world-class wonder given his family’s moderate holdings, was still regarded as something of a looker; a dashing, rogueish, rugged sort of charm, elevated by confidence no doubt trained into him by a background of performance, which slowly moved into the realm of classically handsome as he was weathered by war and travels. Conversely Orochimaru was something of the trio’s ugly duckling, not outright hideous but the furthest thing from classical attractiveness by anyone’s standards— flat-faced and wild-eyed, pale like death, not to mention decidedly gender-ambiguous; could’ve been a pretty boy, or an ugly girl, no way to tell. The kind of face a select few might find captivating and rare, others bizarre and unattractive, and the rest unnerving and frightening.

Tsunade tries to remedy that one night, scissors in hand and determination in mind, not unlike she had a few years prior when she tidied his prison-break haircut. This time, though, the goal is more than just damage control; in one week’s time Hiruzen was to be inaugurated the Third Hokage of Konoha, and with Jiraiya’s recent birthday benchmarking all three of his team sixteen years old and fit for frontline duty, Hiruzen thought it time for them to be given some spotlight and celebrated. And by celebrated, he meant standing as the village’s exemplary younguns, the cream of the crop at the top of the basket, making him proud in diplomacy as well as the battlefield.  _ I want you all looking your best,  _ he says, which isn’t meant so much as a jibe towards Orochimaru’s general scraggliness as it was a request for Tsunade to do something about it.

So they sit now on the tatami of Orochimaru’s bedroom, a mirror propped on the wall in front of them; Tsunade kneels behind him, experimenting with his hair like a child with a doll, while Orochimaru sits unperturbed, mending a hole in his uniform jacket. 

“Thoughts?” 

Orochimaru glances up at the mirror as Tsunade shifts to gauge his reaction. This time round she’s put his hair into a classic topknot not unlike a samurai’s, with a few strands that weren’t quite long enough yet to tie up tucked behind his ears. It looks like his father’s hair.

He tilts his head in a few angles, then pulls some of the strands out from behind his ears so they fall about his face; Tsunade sighs.

“I wanted to get it  _ out  _ of your face,” she complains, slapping his hands away so she can tuck it back. “Jiraiya says it makes you look like a ghost, always having it hang around your eyes.”

“I don’t think my hair is the main reason for that,” Orochimaru says drily.

“Alright, no, but it certainly doesn’t help. Work with me here, Orochi. Please?” 

Orochimaru exhales but lets her have this, inspecting his reflection again from all angles. 

“Anything?”

He shrugs, going back to sewing; Tsunade groans, flopping down to the floor dramatically. “You’re so stubborn.”

Orochimaru shrugs again, an annoying smirk breaking his neutral expression.

“You can’t just shrug every time someone says something to you, y’know. Like, that’s not how people talk to each other.”

“It seems to be working so far. You’re still talking to me, aren’t you?”

“Well, I’m starting to have second thoughts.”

At that Orochimaru snorts, but Tsunade goes quiet, so he humors her, fumbling for something to say. 

“Well… what do  _ you  _ think?”

“Me?” Tsunade sits upright, leaning back on her hands. “ _ I  _ think it looks good. And I’m not just saying that ‘cause it’s my handiwork. Makes you look handsome.” She reaches out idly to flick one of his earrings with her thumb and forefinger. “Like a ronin.” 

Orochimaru stops sewing to look at her with a dry, tell-all stare. “Handsome.” He raises an eyebrow. “Really.” 

“Yes, really, you idiot.” She rolls back to crouch next to him, leaning in so she can get a view of him in the mirror. “What, you don’t believe me?”

“Handsome is not an adjective I would ever believe applied to myself, no.”

“Jeez. You have  _ me, _ not to brag, the most beautiful girl in Fire country, telling you up close that you’re handsome, and you can’t just take it and go? Never thought I’d miss Jiraiya this much.”  _ That is bragging,  _ Orochimaru thinks. Tsunade shifts about, getting comfortable. “All right, fine, not handsome. You look good. Better?” 

“I’ll take it.”

“Good,” she nods, satisfied. “But if you  _ are  _ insecure about not looking masculine, why don’t you ever have it short? You’d look more boyish. And yes, dare I say it, handsome.” 

“You must be joking. It only just got back to its old length, princess, I’m not  _ cutting  _ it.”

“What, ever? You’re so old-fashioned. Sorry, I forgot your hair length is your warrior’s honor, or whatever.”

“I’m not old-fashioned, thank you very much, I just like my hair.” He does a little flourish with a flick of his head at her to prove it. “And if you knew me at all, you’d know that I have no honor.” 

Tsunade rolls her eyes and laughs softly, elbowing him. “Of course, of course. How could I ever forget?”

Smirking as he looks back down to his sewing, Orochimaru ties off a knot in his thread, snipping it with the scissors Tsunade had been using and setting the mended garment aside. Tsunade watches him, sitting on her hands. Clearly she wants to say something, so Orochimaru lets the silence come, comfortable in it as she musters the nerve. Finally, she says: “Orochimaru, are you…?” 

He tilts his head at her, eyebrows raised inquisitively. Tsunade exhales, chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

“Like… you’ve never had a girlfriend.”

Orochimaru snorts. “When was I supposed to have a girlfriend? When I was six and friendless, or when I didn’t have any fingernails?”

“Oh, ‘maru, don’t. You know I didn’t mean…”

Orochimaru exhales softly with a smirk, shaking his head to indicate he wasn’t serious. “Jiraiya’s never had a girlfriend, either.” 

“Jiraiya’s  _ tried  _ to have a girlfriend, he’s just too repulsive to get one.”

“That is certainly true.”

Tsunade sighs, sucking her teeth; Orochimaru watches her fumble for the right words, faintly amused, but keeping his expression neutral.

“Right. And…  _ you’ve  _ never tried, that I’ve seen.”

“What are you asking, princess?”

“Well… I don’t know, I was just wondering, like… if you’re even into girls. I mean, it’s fine if you’re not, or you are, or whatever, I was just kind of… not sure.” 

Orochimaru chuckles at that, leaning in uncomfortably close to mess with her. “Why so interested? Are you in love with me?”

She groans, shoving him away. “Stop being a sadistic gross asshole for one minute of your life. I’m trying to have a real conversation.”

“What, you wouldn’t even consider it? I’m wounded. You’re the one who was calling me handsome a minute ago.”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Well, I’d take you over Jiraiya. You  _ are  _ nicer than most boys.” Pause. “Most of the time. Not when you’re being a prick.” 

“When am I  _ ever  _ a prick? I’m a saint.”

“Right now.  _ Right  _ now you’re being a prick.”

“I’m only teasing, your grace.” Tsunade scowls and crosses her arms, though, so he concedes. “I don’t know. I don’t really think about that type of thing, to be honest.” A shrug. “Seems like there’s always more important things going on, no?”

Tsunade sighs and shuffles about, crawling over to the wall so she can sit and lean against it, legs spread out in a V and head rolled back to the ceiling. She pats the floor next to her, which Orochimaru reads as a cue after a moment to follow suit. “I dunno, man,” she says on an exhale. “Feels like that’s all that matters to people these days, doesn’t it?”

Orochimaru lets his head roll back too, mirroring her position, and makes a noise of agreement. “Puberty’s caught up to everyone now. People are seizing a last chance to get some before we’re all shipped off to the front.”

“‘Last chance’? We’re sixteen.”

Orochimaru winks at her, drawing a finger across his throat. “Exactly.”

Tsunade groans and elbows him. “Don’t be so morbid. Look, my uncle was…” She pauses. “Uh, I want to say… late fifties? Whatever. He was getting up there, and look, he only just croaked. And even then it was a suicide mission. It’s not like he was cut down in his prime. And he grew up in a war zone.”

“Your uncle was a pureblood Senju, princess. I’m not sure his odds apply to the rest of us.”

“Oh, stop moping, Mr. Youngest Jounin Ever. You’ll be fine.”

“Oh, I know I’ll be fine. That’s why I’m not tripping over myself trying to get a girlfriend like everyone else.”

“Jiraiya.”

“Mm. Mark my words, he’ll be dead in two weeks. His kind die young.” 

“We’re not going to Ame for another six months, ‘maru.”

“Oh, I know. Did you think I was talking about the war? That’s not going to be what kills him.”

“No?”

“No, no, it’ll be the old woman who runs the bathhouse. Two weeks, at most.”

Tsunade bursts into a fit of giggles, wriggling her legs and kicking him. “Stop it.”

“She’ll find him peeping and think, ‘Enough’s enough. Time to stop throwing the water at him and start throwing the whole bucket.’”

“Stop it! My stomach hurts—”

“While he’s concussed she’ll shove him halfway through that hole in the fence that he peeps through, just let all the naked women tear him apart. He won’t mind, that’s how he’d want to go.”

Tsunade cackles, elbowing him. Orochimaru snorts softly, glancing at her fit with a bemused smirk. “It’s no laughing matter, Tsunade. We’re talking about a man’s death, here.”

She chokes out another laugh, then sniffs, catching her breath. “Count on you for the one time I hear you tell a joke, it’s about Jiraiya getting murdered by naked women.”

“I’ve never told a joke in my life, and I’m not about to start. I’m deadly serious.”

Tsunade wheezes, doubling over and slapping her thigh. The sight is infectious, so Orochimaru laughs too, softly, watching her as she giggles herself out. When the mirth dies down she leans back against the wall with a last sigh. 

“I feel like that’s the most I’ve heard you talk in a really long time.”

Orochimaru shrugs, mock-bashful. “I accept tips, if you’re in a giving mood.”

She lets out a staccato little chuckle, shoulders jumping up and down. Orochimaru’s surprised too, in truth; it’s not often that he does joke. It’s easier once the ball’s rolling, he supposes. Tsunade is very easily amused when she’s alone with him, which makes it easier. It’s an odd feeling, to be the one making other people laugh; moreso when you spend most of your time in the company of Jiraiya, who thrived off being the centre of attention, and always was.

He’s drawn from his thoughts by the peripheral sight of Tsunade, who had stopped laughing and was now looking at him. 

“Lemme try something,” she says, and leans in uncharacteristically gingerly; she puts her hands on Orochimaru’s cheeks and kisses him, very softly. Orochimaru is too stunned perhaps to react in time, so by the time he’s registered what’s happening, he just opts to go with it, feebly attempting to kiss her back, then stopping when he realises he has no clue what he’s doing. Tsunade pulls back, then after a moment, removes her hands and sits back. 

“Mm.” She smacks her lips. “Failed experiment.”

“Completely,” Orochimaru agrees. 

“Sorry. Forget that happened.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, princess. I might have to tell Jiraiya.”

“Oh, please, please, don’t joke about that. I’d die.” She buries her face in her hands.

There’s a very awkward silence for a moment, Tsunade hiding her face, Orochimaru staring at her, bemused. After a moment, bizarrely, he feels his face crack into a grin, and then a baffled laugh escapes him. 

“What on  _ earth _ —”

“Oh, don’t! I don’t know, I was in the moment, you’re not like other boys, impulse decision, it was worth a try...”

Orochimaru chortles. “Was it?” 

“Don’t, I’ll kill you. Seriously, if you ever bring this up, I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t remember signing anything.” 

“Orochimaru, I am not joking.”

“Once a year. Give me a pass once a year, on my birthday.”

She winces, silent. “...Not in front of Jiraiya.”

“I agree to those terms.”

Tsunade just moans, drawing up her knees to rest her head on them. Orochimaru watches, still amused. After a long silence, he clicks his tongue.

“So… should I be the one to tell your parents, or do you want to? We’ll have to think about wedding venues.” 

“ _ Orochimaru! _ ” 

“Alright, alright. I’m done.” 

More silence. Eventually, Tsunade lifts her head and leans back against the wall, cheeks pink and eyes defeated, and sighs. 

“I don’t know,” she says eventually. “I guess I’m like the rest of those desperate losers, huh.” 

“For what, kissing me? Because I can guarantee you no one’s ever done that before.”

“For wanting a boyfriend.”

Orochimaru snorts softly, then glances at her in curiosity. “You... really thought I could be your boyfriend?”

“No! I don’t know. Look, don’t flatter yourself, it’s just ‘cause you were there.” 

Orochimaru exhales a laugh but doesn’t say anything. Tsunade sighs, and scratches her head. “Sorry. That was mean. I just… I don’t know. It feels like the clock’s running out, sometimes.”

“You have a lot of admirers, princess.” 

“Yeah, but… I mean, yes, people like me, but… none of them really know me. I feel like if they knew me, they wouldn’t like me any more. Even Jiraiya… well. I don’t know.” She sighs again and looks down, fidgeting with her nails. “No one knows me like you.”

“I feel the same.” Orochimaru’s quiet for a moment, and then softly: “But… I think that’s just what having a best friend is.” 

“Mm.” Tsunade nods, and sniffs; out of the corner of his eye, Orochimaru thinks he sees her wipe away a tear. “Yeah. We are best friends, aren’t we?”

“I think that is the scientific term for it, yes.”

She lets a choked-out, abrupt laugh, sniffs, and hugs him, resting her head on his shoulder; Orochimaru stiffens at first, then slowly, rests his head on top of hers. They stay like that for a little while. 

“I am sorry, really,” she says eventually, letting go of him. “If I made it weird.” 

“It was weird,” Orochimaru states flatly. “But I don’t think you need to feel sorry.”

She sniffs. “No?”

“No. It’s normal.” He stares at the floor, absently. “I just think I might… not be normal.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, smiling. “You’re really weird.”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“I know,” she says softly.

More silence.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think it’s true. What you said about people not liking you once they know you.”

Tsunade blinks at him questioningly, resting the side of her head on her knees.

“You’ll find someone. There’ll be plenty of people who love you for who you are, and I think you’ll be happy. For a very long time. I don’t think you’re a loser for wanting that.”

Tsunade smiles at him, a weakness in her eyes, and says nothing for a moment. Then gently, she reaches out one hand, pulling the pin from Orochimaru’s hair to let it fall. 

“You should wear it down,” she says. “It’s you.” 

Orochimaru smiles. “I don’t think that’s the conclusion Sarutobi-sensei was hoping for.”

“Sarutobi-sensei can kiss my ass and buy me a tonkotsu bowl if he wants me to do something for him. I like your hair. I think it’s pretty and it makes you look like your mom, and if that’s what you want, then it’s okay.”

Orochimaru smiles at her. “I think so, too.” 

*** 

The inauguration week seems to go by in moments. All of Konoha seems to sit under a thick and perpetual dust cloud emanating from the Great Stone Faces, just as it had when Tobirama had become Hokage; there is a nervous kind of excitement in the air, neither somber nor overtly celebratory. People are unsure how to feel; public opinion had always been divided on Tobirama, but if there was one thing the people had faith in him to do, it was win the war. Hiruzen remains an unknown to the younger generations of the village, but Sarutobi is a name with weight, and one thing that all of Konoha young and old can agree on is that Hiruzen is better than the alternative. 

Danzo had been a misery since the day Hiruzen was elected, something which one would think he would’ve prepared himself for a little better, given Hiruzen was personally nominated by Tobirama himself; when a Hokage chooses their successor, their decision is never challenged, so there’s virtually no point in letting other candidates run. Nonetheless, Danzo ran, and to no one’s surprise, lost. In the light of that very public humiliation, anyone else might’ve quietly retreated from the spotlight and avoided attention until things had politically settled; Danzo does no such thing. Instead, he takes it upon himself to involve himself even further; wherever there’s a large group of people working to prepare the village for a change of Hokage, Danzo makes it his business to be there supervising, shouting orders, making sure everyone’s doing a stand-up job. If you asked him, he’d probably say that he’s supporting his friend, and indeed some people would believe that; along the grapevine, people are calling it a classy move, an indication that he’s not a sore loser, that he’s taking defeat well. People who know Danzo better, Hiruzen included, know that it’s more a last grasp for control— if he can’t rule Konoha, he can at least vie for second-in-command. Hiruzen lets him have it, despite knowing the truth— that Danzo  _ is  _ a sore loser, he  _ is  _ bitter, and he’s not taking defeat well in the slightest. Jiraiya and Tsunade mock him for this often, in back rooms or while Hiruzen rehearses his speeches, but to his credit, he never bends to them.  _ Do show him a little respect,  _ he says.  _ He wants what’s best for the village. He’s wanted it longer than I have. _

Orochimaru sees him only once up close, outside of this political context, without a crowd surrounding them. The sky is a deep and dark gray, threatening with rain, and the daylight is dim enough that the grasses seem almost blue. Orochimaru goes to the graveyard on these days, when he’s promised solitude; in his hands he brings a bowl of dry white rice, three sticks of incense poking out of it. This is his ritual: he lights the incense at the foot of his parents’ grave, he kneels as though praying - sometimes he does pray, sometimes he’s merely silent - he brushes away the moss and the dirt from the headstone. He stands, he smells the incense, and he leaves. This is what he does every time it’s about to rain. 

Today he is not alone in the cemetery. Up on the stone platform by the grave of the First Hokage stands that of his brother, the newest addition to the graveyard, surrounded by offerings and candles as new graves always are. The stone is polished and gleaming, tall slick granite that shimmers from the candlelight; Danzo is there, a dark and murky shape against that flickering orange glow; he doesn’t pretend to pray like Orochimaru does. He simply stands and stares, hands by his sides, lost in thought. 

When Orochimaru stands to leave, his head turns. The wind blows as if to punctuate the moment, and rustles the browning leaves of the trees all around them; the noise is deafening. Neither of them say anything, but there is an almost imperceptible nod of recognition;  _ I see you.  _ Something about not staring into the abyss, Orochimaru thinks. He goes. Danzo stays. He can feel the gaze on his back even as he walks away, something dark, as if he’d poked a sleeping tiger.

The next time Orochimaru sees Danzo, it’s at the inauguration ceremony. The giant stone rendition of Hiruzen’s face is almost complete, the scaffolds only remaining on a corner of the hairline; carved into the side of the mountain, this enormous Hiruzen watches over as his smaller counterpart gives his speech. Orochimaru, Jiraiya and Tsunade are stood at the front, below the stage, in seats of honor; next to them is Biwako, Hiruzen’s long-term girlfriend, and Tsunade’s grandmother Mito, who has pride of place in the seat closest to the central aisle. Across from them on the other side of the aisle is Danzo, a few of the Council of Elders, and some officials that Orochimaru does not recognise. 

“He looks kind of stupid in those robes,” Jiraiya whispers to his teammates, perhaps a little too loudly (Jiraiya wasn’t good at being quiet), because Orochimaru notices that Danzo actually smirks.  _ A childish streak _ , Orochimaru thinks. Observing, Jiraiya is right, though; the ceremonial Hokage robes look wrong on Hiruzen. They age him. They actually look too big; Hiruzen is a short man, and briefly Orochimaru wonders if they even bothered tailoring them properly. If they didn’t, they certainly don’t bother rectifying that in the weeks to come; Hiruzen looks just as swamped in all that fabric a month into his reign as he had on that stage. 

The time passes fast, easy. There seems to have been a certain leap in maturity for them that only happened once Hiruzen became unavailable as their sensei, even though technically speaking, they’d been fully-fledged ninja since the day they became chuunin. With the new Hokage business out of the way, the focus turned to the swiftly approaching milestone: deployment to the Ame front. For Team Hiruzen and the rest of their generation of shinobi, life becomes a long series of drills, lectures, and other preparatory classes that focus on the specifics of field battle. In particular, veterans of the first war impart much wisdom; shrivelled old things with military hardness to them. Everything in general was colder, and harder. This wasn’t play-time any more. 

Initially the transition is difficult, but as with all things, they adapt. So one month, then two whittle by like that, an almost crash-course in warfare, in enemy tactics, psychological torture, and beyond that basic survival; fires, rations, frostbite, trench disease. Emergency first-aid. What to do if someone on your team isn’t going to make it. 

One or two people crumble under the sudden intensity of training, and are quietly dismissed from the roster; it’s not clear what happened to them, if they were retired or simply stationed elsewhere, given less crushing jobs. Generally, though, they cope. Some people are even excited. It  _ is  _ exciting, in some ways; the prospect of it, once unfamiliar, has now settled, and the tales of all the heroes that they’d been told as children were now feeding back into their collective subconscious. Call it the Will of Fire if you like, but there was no mistaking that the people of Konoha were optimistic. Sometimes too much; it took Orochimaru a lot, when he saw these groups of his peers almost celebrating the prospect of going to war, not to remind them that half of them would be dead in a year’s time. Tsunade has to distract him more than once, pull him away from conversations before he makes people miserable. Orochimaru wonders if perhaps they really do believe war will be so easy, or if the truth is simply too much to bear. If they have to believe it will be easy, because the alternative is too terrifying to think about. 

***

Orochimaru goes to the woods often these days, once training is over, or on days off. In the early mornings before a lecture. Normal missions have almost ceased for the group being sent to the front, and spare time becomes strangely boring after such intense routine; or perhaps it’s just that Orochimaru misses being outside, alone. Training now is highly impersonal; instead, they are treated as a collective, any anomalies in form quickly hammered into place. It’s harder for people like Jiraiya than it is for Orochimaru to adapt to, but nonetheless, the freedom to train on his own is something Orochimaru misses. So sometimes, in spare time, he actually finds himself training; even in breaks. It takes him back to the blue mornings at the Tsukikages’ house, before the sun had even broke dawn, when he would go out to the yard and practice his shuriken throwing at a stump, or scale the house with chakra focus. There’s something comforting about it, training at his leisure; like sharpening a well-loved blade. Other times he studies, revising the reading materials from a lecture, or draws up ideas for new jutsu, talking them over with his summons; he just likes the quiet. Today he works on a pet project that Tsunade had suggested, following her many complaints about how little focus there was on front-line medical training. Tsunade had been in a foul mood ever since a lecturer had mocked her over an idea she had for making the presence of a medic mandatory in each team— it was a good idea, but old dogs don’t learn new tricks. Since then, she’d taken to going rogue with her training, spending every spare minute she had at the Medical Corps or libraries, apothecaries, pharmacies— anywhere she could learn. Orochimaru doesn’t blame her; there was remarkably little focus on healing during this preparatory training, despite the fact that it would probably be crucial in staying alive between battles— he doubts there’ll be many cushy, supervised medical tents out in the marshes, in the middle of enemy territory. But then, medical jutsu had always been belittled as a kunoichi’s domain; ironic, considering half the country’s great masculine heroes would’ve been dead meat without a kunoichi here and there to put them back together.

There’s a snapping of twigs from a corner of the clearing that breaks Orochimaru’s train of thought, and then the sound of familiar footsteps. 

“Hey,” Jiraiya says, stepping oafishly through the trees.

“Hey, yourself,” Orochimaru replies, not looking back. 

“Be an asshole, then. Tsunade just told me to come tell you there’s a briefing at the lecture hall. It’s at half five, so don’t stay late with… whatever the hell you’re doing.” He pauses, looking Orochimaru up and down with a displeased grimace. “What  _ are  _ you doing? Do I want to know?” 

“Probably not.” 

“Uh-huh.” Another pause. “So… you gonna tell me anyway, for the sake of keeping the conversation alive?”

“Probably not.” 

Jiraiya lets out a sigh so exasperated one could have sworn it was laced with fire and smoke, his recently-broken voice rumbling with annoyance as he swings himself round a tree trunk, turning to leave. “S’impossible to talk to you, man.”

A beat of silence but for foliage crunching beneath Jiraiya’s sandals, and then: 

“I’m decomposing a deer corpse,” Orochimaru says, just a decibel louder than his usual speaking volume. An olive branch. Jiraiya stops and turns back around with a noise of mixed disgust and disappointment, but his face has lit up like a sunbeam. 

“You’re so goddamn weird,” he scolds, shaking his head, but he’s smiling. 

Jiraiya’s beautiful. Orochimaru doesn’t know how he never saw it before. He’d see that face carved in the stone of the great mountain that mothered Konoha, every last chiselled detail of him; the fledgling laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, the minuscule stubble scars from shaving mishaps about the jut of his chin, the mole on his right nostril that would no doubt bulge into a fleshy, pink wart as he aged. His eyes so brown they could be black.

_ Dangerous. Dangerous thoughts.  _

Orochimaru can see the layers of flesh underneath that pocked brown skin, see the muscles of his jaw move underneath his cheekbone. The hard ridge of the brow. Orochimaru feels like he can see Jiraiya in layers, see the outlines of his skull, his spine where it forms bumps in his neck. An organic machine in perfect form. Someday that too would decompose.

_ Stop staring at him,  _ Tsunade chides.

“Yeah,” Orochimaru says stupidly, realising he’d been quiet.

“Yeah?” Jiraiya asks, a look of baffled amusement on his face. “Yeah, you’re weird?” 

_ Oh.  _ “I suppose so.” 

Jiraiya just laughs, but comes closer, taking care to step over a large pile of branches. “Right. Okay, well, talk me through this. What’ve we got going on here?” 

Orochimaru looks down at his project. The deer corpse is in early stages of rot, encased in a wide net that’s tied down to the earth with wooden pegs. Keeps scavengers from carrying it off for their supper. “Anatomy study,” he says. “You get an intact corpse and help it decompose naturally. Once the flesh is gone, you can assemble the bones as a complete skeleton.”

Jiraiya nods, rapt. “Mm, yeah. You do know you’re a complete psychopath?”

“It’s only nature. No need to be so scared of it.”

“I’m not scared of the deer, dude, I’m scared of you.” 

“Good. Maybe you’ll shut up once in a while, then.” 

“Ouch.” Jiraiya shakes his head, then squats. “What’s the net for?” 

“Stops it being carried off. Vultures, wind, rain. Only bugs and feeders can get in to clean away the flesh.”

“Right. Why are you doing this again?”

Orochimaru shrugs. “It’s good to know how a skeleton works, considering what we do. They’re not so different from human beings.” When Jiraiya wrinkles his nose, Orochimaru tries a different tack. “Bones can make good medicines, anyway, when powdered. Chinese traditional medicine uses it a lot. Tsunade was very interested.” 

“Huh. Okay, well, consider me educated. I still think you’re nuts, but clearly, you are very smart about it.” 

“Thank you.”

With a huge sigh, Jiraiya pats Orochimaru on the back, and extends his legs to stand; stretching out his arms behind him until his shoulders crack. “Well, your skeleton’s not going anywhere, clearly. C’mon, let’s go. I’ll race you to the lecture?” 

“I’m not going to race you,” Orochimaru says, but Jiraiya’s already gone. Orochimaru stands in the clearing in silence, and puts one of his hands on his shoulder, where Jiraiya’s hand had been just seconds before. The place he touched still feels warm.

Something in him feels tight as he leaves. 

***

Danzo Shimura had the sort of look that one might have called classically handsome, if not for the obvious years of hate and bitterness that had worn their way into every pore and crack on his face. He couldn’t have been much older than Sarutobi— mid-thirties, perhaps— but staring at him now, all Orochimaru could see was a wrinkled has-been approaching the end of his middle-age, well on the way to becoming the type who’d hit kids with his walking stick for looking at him wrong. He seemed to have aged decades in the few months since Hiruzen had become Hokage; he had been handsome, once. Orochimaru almost pities him. 

The lecture is his, focusing mainly on undercover missions and other sorts of subterfuge. Danzo isn’t a particularly engaging man, nor charismatic, but he does make a somewhat more effective teacher than many of the others they’d had; something that Orochimaru feels is ironic, considering that Danzo has never had a student to his knowledge, considering himself above such things. Being the youngest member of the Council of Elders isn’t exactly a prestigious position; if anything, it looks more like early retirement. 

Nonetheless, respect where it's due, Danzo is a seasoned soldier, and the information he gives is important,  _ ‘particularly for those of you who wish to join ANBU’s ranks someday’. _ Jiraiya picks his nose the entire time and feigns several huge yawns, but Orochimaru can tell even he is taking some of it on board. Despite being a jounin, Orochimaru nor anyone else he knows has any actual knowledge of how one goes about becoming an ANBU member; though, then again, he supposes if it was common knowledge it would defeat the purpose. If anyone among them was a member, it’s not as though they would disclose that information. He imagines the invitations would only start after this first assignment; for those who survive. Maybe this entire deployment is just a trial run to weed out the weak ones unfit for real war. 

When the clock strikes 6:30, Danzo dismisses them for the day, wiping off the blackboard with a wide cloth eraser; at once there’s an uproar of noise as people start to chatter and gather up their notes, a sound like children at the end of a school day. Because they are children, really. But not to war.  _ There are no children in war.  _ That’s one of Danzo’s pearls of wisdom.  _ Anyone can conceal a knife. Vigilance. Vigilance. _

“Oh, Orochimaru-kun,” the geezer calls to him as he’s about to leave, and Orochimaru immediately tenses at the suffix despite the fact that he'd been expecting it. There’s something odd about the way you can sense when an authority figure is about to speak to you. “Stay a moment.” 

“Elder Danzo,” Orochimaru returns, and he can see the man suppress a wince at being referred to as an elder.  _ Orochimaru, one. Danzo, zero.  _

“It's just Danzo-sama, if you don't mind, boy,” Elder Danzo says with what has to be one of the fakest smiles Orochimaru’s ever seen. “I may be on the council, but I’m not an elder quite yet.”

He takes a couple of steps forward, indicating one of the newly-vacated benches for Orochimaru to take a seat. Behind him as the rest of the squad filters out, Orochimaru can see Jiraiya and Tsunade hesitating by the door with questioning looks, and shoots them a meaningful look when Danzo’s not looking as he takes his seat. 

“I wanted to talk to you regarding your placement on the forces,” he begins, resting his elbows on the desk. In Orochimaru’s peripheral vision Jiraiya makes an obscene gesture, which apparently Orochimaru’s face betrays, because Danzo turns his head with an unamused frown. 

“ _ You’re _ dismissed, thank you,” he says curtly, with just the slightest hint of a masked irritation, and Tsunade yanks Jiraiya (and his mimicked fellatio) out of sight with an inaudible scolding hiss. Danzo keeps his eye on the door for a few moments more, and once satisfied they had the room to themselves, turns back to Orochimaru. “First, I wanted to congratulate you on your new title, Orochimaru-kun; I hadn’t a chance before.” He definitely had, multiple chances in fact, but Orochimaru’s face betrays nothing. “We may be at war, but even so, fifteen is a young age to be promoted to jounin. Your talent in particular is… unprecedented, given your background. But many fine ninja have emerged from simple beginnings, which is why I’d like to offer you a path perhaps different to the one you’re on now.”

Orochimaru might have thanked him, were it not for the unnecessary remark about his dead parents. Instead he just stays quiet, which after an uncomfortable beat of silence, Danzo takes as a prompt to keep talking. 

“You are without a doubt one of the finest ninja of your generation, Orochimaru-kun, but I believe your talents could be better utilised in ANBU Black Ops, as opposed to the battlefield. As it is, your talent is widely unknown. Your name strikes no fear into enemy lines, as with esteemed clans like Uchiha or Nara; a secret weapon, one might say. Posturing is all well and good, but it’s battles that are won on the field, not wars. Wars are won through intelligence, and assassinations, bribes, diplomacy, clandestine operations that target the heart of the conflict. Sometimes the death of one man can prevent the deaths of thousands of foot soldiers.

Were you to become an agent of my organisation, your missions would be more challenging, more impacting; with you at our ranks, I’d wager this war would be over within the year.”

“I see,” Orochimaru replies evenly, not giving away any inclination to what his answer might be. Largely because he, himself, has no idea. It did seem a no-brainer, but then, Sarutobi-sensei had been telling him to stay away from Danzo longer than Orochimaru had even known who Danzo was. 

“I’m not asking for an answer right away,” Danzo smiles, standing, “but do think on it. You are one of a small, elite number that would qualify for a job like this, after all.” 

Orochimaru nods, giving Danzo a small, respectful bow as he too gets to his feet, and watches the senior ninja leave the briefing hall. Just before he leaves, though, Danzo hesitates, one hand on the door frame. “This goes without saying, of course, but ANBU is a closed organisation. In order to be effective, our members must be anonymous. I’d ask that you refrain from telling anyone about this, even your little…” There’s a little flash of disgust across his face, nose wrinkling in disdain. “Friends.” With that, he goes. 

Orochimaru finds his disgusting little friends outside to greet him; Jiraiya very red in the face, Tsunade with her arms folded and eye twitching. They’re sat on the same bench, as far away from each other as was physically possible. Orochimaru doesn’t care, so he doesn’t ask, and gives them a brief nod in acknowledgement before continuing to walk. He doesn’t bother checking to see if they’re following him, because obviously, they are. (They always do.) Jiraiya’s off the bench after him like a bullet, clogs clapping loudly against the pavement; Tsunade takes her time to get up, letting the gap between her and Jiraiya widen. 

“Hey-hey, hotshot. What did the acceptable face of death want?”

“ _ Jiraiya _ ,” Tsunade hisses, but they both ignore her.

“He wants me to join ANBU.”

Jiraiya snorts with laughter, slapping Orochimaru on the back and pointing at him for an unseen audience. “This guy, in ANBU? Good one.” 

Orochimaru pretends he’s not offended, although he very much is. “Why is that so hard to believe? I’m miles more competent than you as a shinobi.”

“I mean,  _ yeah,  _ but…” Jiraiya pulls a face, and starts ticking off points on his fingers. “Like, ANBU are heroes. Like, secret service. And you’re all…” He makes a vague gesture.

“Good at his job?” Tsunade offers, now having caught up with them. 

“Weird,” Jiraiya clarifies.

“Compelling argument,” Orochimaru says, and Tsunade scoffs in agreement. Jiraiya rounds on her, incensed.

“Oh,  _ don’t  _ you go taking his side, princess, you know damn well what I mean.” 

“What? No, I don’t. Orochimaru’s the most normal guy I know, actually.” Orochimaru smirks at her, which she returns. “You’re just being a dick, Jiraiya.”

“I am  _ not  _ being a dick, this isn’t even— you’re not even defending  _ him _ , you just don’t wanna agree with  _ me! _ ”

“That’s true.”

“Just because I tried to—”

“Anyway,” Tsunade cuts him off abruptly. “Jiraiya’s talked enough. Congratulations, Orochimaru.” She gives him a friendly nudge with her elbow.

“Thanks,” he nods.

“Are you gonna do it?” 

“I don’t know.” Orochimaru idly fidgets with a kunai at his belt, twirling the pommel about his finger. “It seems to make sense, I suppose. I doubt Sarutobi-sensei would be too pleased, though.” 

“Plus, you’d have to work with Danzo,” Tsunade supplies.

“There is also that.” Orochimaru pauses, staring absently at the kunai in his fingers. “But then again, I’m not a shinobi to have fun.”

“He  _ really  _ asked you?” Jiraiya asks from somewhere behind them, trying to re-enter the conversation. Tsunade and Orochimaru ignore him. 

“Say what you will about him as a person, but he clearly loves the village. He’ll do what has to be done to make it strong, even if that means he won’t be popular.”   
“You sound like you admire him,” Tsunade observes.

“I don’t. I don’t admire Sarutobi-sensei, either. But out of the two, I think I understand Danzo more.” 

“Gay,” Jiraiya says loudly. 

“Classy,” Tsunade shoots back.

“Oh, c’mon, let me back in here. You’re pushing me out.”

Tsunade rolls her eyes, but reluctantly steps a little to the side, letting Jiraiya worm his way back into step with them. 

“Yes! Back on top. Psychology aside though, you aren’t actually gonna join ANBU, right? Right, Orochimaru?”

“I said I don’t know.”

“But that’s like, you don’t know, like you’re not gonna? Or you don’t know, like, you  _ are  _ gonna?”

“What are you, my wife? Drop it.”

“Hey, pal, if either of us is the wife, it’s you.”

“ _ Guys, _ ” Tsunade groans. 

It’s then that a stout man wearing a white monkey mask apparates before them in a puff of smoke, appearing quite out of breath; Jiraiya lets out an undignified little yelp and jumps back, while Orochimaru and Tsunade stop in their tracks. 

“You three, good,” The ANBU pants, gripping his knees. “You’re wanted in Hokage-sama’s office.”

“Warn a guy,” Jiraiya grumbles. The masked man turns. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, sounding confused. 

“Ignore him, he’s a child,” Tsunade huffs. “What does Sarutobi-sensei want?”

“He didn’t say. Just that he needs to speak to the three of you promptly. He’ll be waiting in his office.” With that, he’s gone in another puff of smoke, making Jiraiya jump and yelp yet again. 

“Why do they have to do that so suddenly?! Orochimaru, you wanna be one of these guys?! Just puffing about and asking people to go places, that’s what you want for yourself?”

“Oh, grow up, you stupid baby,” Tsunade says briskly, striding ahead. Orochimaru shakes his head in amusement, following suit, leaving Jiraiya clutching his heart behind them. 

*** 

Despite it having been occupied for two months now, the Hokage’s office is still a mess; cardboard boxes line the walls, unclaimed possessions of Tobirama’s lying about in corners, stacks of important-looking paperwork taking up every available surface. Hiruzen looks almost comical sat at the Hokage’s desk, the size of the thing making it all the more apparent how small he was. He looks like a small brown monkey sat at a human’s office, wearing human’s robes.

“Ah, you three,” Hiruzen greets with a deceptively amicable smile. “I’ll cut to the chase. Orochimaru, I heard you’ve been speaking with Danzo.”

Orochimaru frowns, affronted. “About fifteen minutes ago.”

An awkward pause. 

“Sensei, are you spying on us?” Jiraiya says, squinting at him. Hiruzen shrugs bashfully.

“If I said no, would that make you feel better?”

“...Yes.”

“Then I haven’t been spying on you.”

Jiraiya frowns, trying to work out what’s going on; Tsunade plops herself into the nearest seat, arms and legs crossed. 

“Why are you spying on us?” 

“Oh, don’t make it sound so bad. I’m barely allowed out of this office nowadays. How am I supposed to know if you three are getting into trouble?”

“Take us out for lunch?” Jiraiya suggests. “Send a carrier pigeon?”

“No, no,” Tsunade chimes, “he’s got a point.”

“I also have a network of spies keep tabs on my friends at all times,” Orochimaru joins in.

“Are you three going to bully your Hokage all afternoon, or are you going to tell me what’s going on with Danzo?” 

Immediately both Tsunade and Jiraiya start clamoring over each other, Hiruzen powerless in the face of their united juvenile irritation; Orochimaru puts him out of his misery, cutting in.

“Nothing’s going on,” he says stiffly. “He just invited me to work for him instead of go to the front.”

“Though I think Jiraiya made him mad,” Tsunade says, imitating the gesture Jiraiya had done earlier. Jiraiya shrugs, as if to say _not my_ _problem. _

“He’s been in a terribly bad mood since you were made Hokage, sensei.” 

“Yes, it’s almost like he wanted the job all his life,” Hiruzen jokes with a wry smile. “Enough, you two. Danzo might not be the most pleasant man in the world, but he wants what’s best for the village.” 

“Most pleasant? Sensei, I’d rather have my fingernails pulled out than spend ten minutes with the guy.” Jiraiya then winced. “Oops. Sorry, Orochimaru.” 

Tsunade hits Jiraiya over the head with her bag, though Orochimaru’s already shaken his head in dismissal. 

“I don’t want to overwhelm you here, but I had a feeling he was going to approach you with something like that, and I have another idea.” Hiruzen leans in conspiratorially, resting his elbows on the desk and clasping his hands together. Orochimaru nods,  _ continue.  _ “I think you should be a teacher. You’re good with kids, and more importantly, they  _ listen  _ to you.”

“Jiraiya doesn’t,” Orochimaru points out with a smirk.

Jiraiya scowls. “ ‘ _ Oh, look at me, I’m Orochimaru and I’ve learned how to tell jokes _ .’ Back off, man. I’m the funny one around here.” 

“Watch out, Jiraiya, Orochimaru’s coming for your throne,” Tsunade giggles, knocking him on the shoulder.

“Oh, shut up, washing-board.” 

“ _ Hey!  _ You wanna take this outside?!” 

Hiruzen looks on at the two of them as they bickered with a fond chuckle, before turning back to Orochimaru. “I think they’d agree, were they not preoccupied.” 

“Elder Danzo wouldn’t.” 

Hiruzen cackles, clapping Orochimaru on the shoulder. “Oh, Orochimaru, tell me you didn’t call him that to his face.” 

Orochimaru shrugs, failing to repress a smug smirk, which evokes more laughter from Hiruzen. “I’m the one who’s going to have to deal with his tantrum later, you know, boy,” he scolds, but he’s grinning. “Well, I’m glad you didn’t fall for it. Danzo might be doing what he thinks is best, and I can’t make the decision for you, but I don’t think you’d…” Hiruzen pauses, evidently choosing his words carefully; they both know  _ flourish  _ isn’t the one he’s looking for, since it’s fairly obvious that Orochimaru would do outstandingly well under Danzo, just not in the way Hiruzen would want. “... Do well, working for him. It wouldn’t be a long assignment, since you’re all off to Ame in four months, but nonetheless— shall I put you through to take on a genin team?”

“Very well, sensei.” 

Hiruzen grins, steepling his fingers. “Good. I have just the one in mind.” 


End file.
